When you died I did not tell anybody
I carried on my life as though you were never in it
I did not cry for you
With no visitation your funeral was short,
but I still didn’t find the need to have
anyone there but me.
You were not buried
That didn’t seem to suit your personality,
A swimmer, free, should never be held
down by the harrowing weight of dirt.
A cremation seemed unsuitable too. You
were so frail in death no ash would be left
behind.
I flushed you in my porcelain bowl
One last final swim

    --Sir Cinderbrick Linroy the Third

My entire life I've been trapped in a glass box--
glass walls;
there's a barrier between myself and my emotions--
a barrier between myself and the rest of the world

I ache

I thought I saw things and understood clearly what my life was and meant--
I thought I saw clearly who were my friends--
but I didn't,
I couldn't,
still can't,
my hands have been reaching for touch:
acceptance;
someone to see me clearly too

but I've placed my hands on this barrier so many times that handprints and the sworls of my fingertips marr the glass with smudges
the vision is blurred

I'm reaching out

trying to touch

just making the visibility worse with every attempt


       --I don't think I'll ever see the glass clearly again

There are very few times I bite my tounge
Constantly told I am too blunt and abrasive
My head slower than my mouth in most situations
But I bite my tounge around you
I swallow the words back into my lungs and hold them there until my lips are blue
I cannot tell you of these feelings I still have for you
I cannot jeopardize this again
I will hold my breath like I'm passing a graveyard hoping what used to be between us doesn't become one.

They told me stay true to myself
never change
and I'm nodding along
like i'm paying attention
hoping they won't see how much I already have

I breathed and inhaled stardust
and I wonder---
how I can miss someone I've never met.

I met you without meeting you
I loved you without knowing you
and I will die without truly ever hearing you-

the lack of you in my life is just as substantial as your place in it

I hold these superstitions dear to me
knowing they're nonsense and choosing to ignore that reality
I step cautiously over the cracks in the sidewalk on good days
and on bad ones I stomp on every one hoping you feel the pain that I do
I know you don't deserve it mother, but my feet land on them still
I still throw spilled salt over my shoulder
hoping that maybe this time some luck will come of it
and I avoid walking under ladders if not for safety's reason than for those years of bad luck
Believe me when I say that I know these petty rituals won't affect an invisible force like luck
But I wear my night shirt inside out and backwards thinking that somehow it will cause snow to appear
These superstitions of mine may be childish
It may be downright insane for any sensible young woman to believe in such a thing
But I hold onto this childish hope that maybe
just maybe
If I do enough of these superstitious acts
that my life will finally turn around
and for once I will be lucky....

I was born into this world with my umbilical cord wrapped around my neck
the ***** which gave me life already trying to take it from me
My first noose was this one
and maybe then my parents should have laughed at the future symbolism as death has chased me ever since
He replaced my umbilical cord with his hands many times
but each time I wake up
panting
sweating
screaming
crying
surviving just like I did before I even knew what the outside world was
I will take this as a sign, then
that I should be here
that I am meant to be here

I’m scared
And I hate to say that about myself
Because I have lived in a sense of false security for so long
Reliant on others because I can’t be reliant on myself
And I’ve developed this system of ignore, persist, and repeat
And I think its slowly draining me

There are moments when I can forget that my life is the way that it is
Self-medicating to prevent the anxiety from creeping up into my throat
Turning off the big light to blind myself from all the ugly pieces of me that I am ashamed of seeing
It is my instinct to believe that something is wrong with me

And I’ve never been good at being alone
Though I crave it all the same
When I am alone I can breathe in the darkness
Veiled by the idea that running away will one day have to stop

But I still find my legs striving towards to finish line
Try as I might take my time to get there
The idea of just completing the race urging myself forward
A success where I have never had any before

I am trying
And I am healing
And I know that it is not linear
I know I have many more obstacles ahead of me
But I think the want may finally outweigh the hatred and shame

I've stopped believing in the pretty things
the beautiful words strung in a web too good to be true
I stopped believing I would find perfection
even if it was just perfection to me
because life truly isn't fair
and life isn't beautiful
It's corrupt and distant
a movie with a lost director and bad cast
I want to rewrite the script
I'm sick of this improv game and technical difficulties

I poured so much of my time into you
into us
that I overflowed onto the table
a circular stain marring it for eternity

everytime I look at that table
use it to eat off, draw on, play cards with friends
I am reminded of us again

Watermarks are not enough reason for new furnishings
Coffee stains are a fact of life
I don't need to throw out the table we built together
even though looking at it hurts everytime

Recently I found some paint
and I decided that I can reclaim this again
I will reclaim this again

--With new memories and stains
    that were never meant for you.

You reminded me of a time when everything wasnt so balanced
When a step this way or that would throw my entire life out of line
And it forces me to realize I'm walking on a cliff without a steady handrail
A rusted culmination of metal and paint flakes the only life vest before I'm taken over by these waves that threaten to drag me under
You remind me that life is unpredictable
That happiness is not constant
That effort must be continuous for a payoff
I can't float in a sea forever without drowning
I cant stand at a cliff edge letting my eyes guide me instead of my feet and trust that the wind wont push me over the edge
You remind me that right now will change
And I'm still not sure how to feel about that

Like a child,
I play pretend
I run and hide from the monsters
unlike a child
I have no one to check under the bed
in the closet
behind the door
I live alone
and find comfort in that
but I cannot be my own caregiver
the difficulties in my wants are oxymoronic what I want and what I need are playing tennis
the ball constantly bouncing back-and-forth face and conquer
or fear and cower
the match has yet to end

-- they are undefeated in their own fields

It's a prison-- but it isn't
--although I imagine the toilets are the same and probably shares many features
here I use paper spoons
here I use pens that are just an ink reservoir here I'm supposed to get better

I'm here to get better
my concept of the term loose and evolving "better" is never achievable
only not as bad
I am trying to be honest
this is my best

I watched as she became a stranger to me--
one that I knew very well

I watched and I wanted and I ached

I still ache

    ---no one warns you about this part

Young, hunched over, under covers,
Hous after lights out--
Bedtime forgotten;
Book in hand;
Fake sleeping when parents checked;
A secret moment in the world just for me
               It's a wonder how my flashlight never ran out

And the words dropped from your lips like honey
And my ears became clogged with their sweetness
I did not hear you say goodbye

maybe it wasn't love
maybe it was the perfect illusion
one where I saw myself as someone
being capable of such a concept of love
where I saw myself happier than I really was
where I didn't make compromises for
my happiness to allow you some of yours

Maybe it was fear
the fear of being alone again
the fear that it was always me all along
who wasn't capable of making a relationship last
the fear that if you weren't the one then
there was nobody else out there that could be

And you know, maybe it wasn't love
maybe it was contentedness
the feeling that I was comfortable
so that should be enough, right?
that I should be happy with being comfortable
and not being truly happy

But maybe it was love
Maybe it was love that kept me with you
so much longer than I should have been
maybe it was love causing me to sacrifice
so much time and effort and energy into us
love causing me to think differently about my future
love making me blind to other possibilities
love making me selfless rather than selfish

So I guess I should thank you
because I've realized now that it's okay to be selfish
that I don't have to compromise to be happy
that I don't have to change my wants and
dreams to match yours
and that I can find someone who shares my goals

I can thank you for the growth
Thank you for the insight
for the days of joy
and for the nights of pain that made
those happy times even sweeter

So maybe it wasn't all love
But it was real
We were real

Tell me why i still write about you
tell me why i'm still hanging onto that cliche branch off the edge of a cliff
tell me why i'm scared to fall into a world without you in it
i should be happy
in a way i am
i have a girlfriend now and i can already tell she'll treat me better than you ever did
can already tell that i'm on my way to loving her
maybe once day i'll be in love with her
so tell me why i'm still writing about you and not her
                                   please just tell me

There's a moment every day I remember
that I'm here
phone calls and probing questions
I'm forced to face the reality of my situation it's therapeutic knowing
--the process is progress--
I may not see it yet,
but slow happenings are still happening

  --- I'll get there soon

she told me setting boundaries is being kind to myself
and I've never really been good at that
being kind that is
I will cower and fade to the detriment of myself  before I will admit that this is decidedly unhealthy

but I'm trying to do better
be better I mean
as a person I call myself cruel to be kind
as I know my mind better than anyone else's
and I know that it is condescending at best

but she tells me to be gentle
treat myself with patience and grace
but I have never liked my name

I don't know if fear exists in the absence of courage or it is accompanies it with a hand on its back
leading it into the forest among all the beasts that lurk there

I don't know if forgiveness should be this contractual obligation that it is in my mind
a softness I rarely allow myself to feel
and while you cannot **** me in a way that matters
I will still feel the blade forcing itself further
the sharpness a stinging not unlike lightening
a gripping of my heart in a too tight hand

she tells me to breathe
a laboring shaky breath that allows air into my lungs once again
the hollow void of the knife leaving behind a scar I cannot be rid of
a reminder of weakness in the face of a wicked beast

she tells me to be kind
to forgive myself for something I shouldn't have to forgive
and well,
I'm not very good at that part

The groups seems to bring out emotions I'm not fond of facing alone
and these people make me feel safer than my own family
but although the depression is lessening,
its cousin anxiety has settled in somewhere deep in my gut
sending shockwaves to my fingertips
I fidget
I disassociate
I crave desertion
but I've been running
and I've been hiding from the skeletons seeping their way out my closet
bony metatarsals and phalanges fiddiling with the lock
it will rust soon enough
I don't know if I'm ready for the break

I have always had a fondness for
Tattoos
My mother always hated them
I never understood how my mother,
A lover and pursuer of the arts,
Could dislike them
How such beauty
Could be wrong

If in fifty years I regret my tattoos
I will at least never regret my life
I will never regret wondering what it could
have been like not to worry about how I
was perceived by others
I will never regret focusing my image on my peers
I will love my tattoos in their wholeness
I will love them because they made me free

  --There’s something powerful about reclaiming your body

My hands are a mockery of what they create
Slit cuticles and short bitten nails
Somehow they still create beauty in ink
Maybe they can because they wish themselves beautiful
I try to treasure my hands
To treat them to sophistication as they deserve
But my job
My work
My habits
They prevent my hands from being anything more than peasant rough calloused
But I have learned those with hands like mine haven talents
Gifts they can give to the world
And so I have learned to love them instead of apologizing for them

When I was younger the most horrifying thing
was the garbage disposal
clogged up and over flowing with
a plethora of unknown substances
and my mother
my mother would put her hand into
the murky chunky waters in our kitchen sink
and clear out the drain

There are 3 cigatette butts on my patio
Relics of talking and tears and hard decisions I wish we didnt have to make
I said --and I meant it, still do-- that I would support you as a friend
I want there to be more
You say you need to do this alone so that we can be more
I know realistically holding out for hope that you will come back to me is probably foolish
Taking a break is never just taking a break
And it hurts because I love you and I know you love me too
We talked last night about marriage and our future together
Of the life we would and wanted to build
In your exhales of nicotine we agreed
But when you left leaving only your butts on my porch as a reminder you were there
You and I disagreed on what to do

---I can't bring myself to throw them away because it's like an admission of throwing us away too.

I have never had a fondness for roses
a basic beauty, classic, calm, safe
Instead, I have found enchantment in the chaotic
the unpredictable, the unusual
Chrysanthemums hold my intrigue
I fell in love with you for the same reason

I'm sitting in a waiting room
TV on for distraction
and it still hasn't hit me fully yet that I am here
in the waiting room
my next step
the passage way to a better tomorrow
and I know it's only been a few minutes
hours have yet to pass
and although I've never been here
the waiting seems intimately familiar

---I haven't been in this room before
the waiting is the same

I hate the way we teach English in schools
it's so structerd
and rigid
and every paper is a carbon-copied version of a paragraph template we all learned in the fourth grade
I wish I could break that system
show students its okay to use personal pronouns and to stray from the example
that not every writer needs an outline, rough draft, second drafts, etc
That you can and should just sit down and write
don't think
just let the words fall from your fingers
I wish I could show students how incredible writing is
that poetry is all just big anlogies
that books give you better screen time than televison
that grammar and wordplay isn't hard if you find a love of language
I want to indulge every child that way I was with nights filled sitting in my mother's lap reading books instead of watching cartoons
I want to give every child the opportunity to grow and express themselves
I want to show people that writing can be and is so therapeutic and that paper and ink are much better listeners than most people could ever be
that words are so much more than they ever thought they were

When I was younger I used to believe that I was destined for greatness
Not the kind of greatness like curing cancer or anything
But the magical, the unbelievable
I was meant to leave this world
This place where I've never really had a place
I was supposed to go explore magical lands
meet weird and unusual creatures
do incredible and impossible things
I know it's just a childish whim from years ago
Yet I still lay in bed at night wondering
what It would be like to wake up somewhere else
what it would be like to be needed somewhere
to be wanted somewhere
to be destined for more
but it looks like I missed those storybook years
where I would be chosen for something more

I denied what was going on for a long time
The lack of I love yous
The late nights and early mornings
I should have seen it coming in hindsight
But your lies were always lullabies in my head
Calming my fears from my paranoia and assumptions
I should have listened to them and not to you
You were never a good singer anyways
And I never did like lullabies

My tap shoes spoke words louder and
with more confidence than my voice ever
could

  --They still do.

Walking in tap shoes on tile floors is an
excellent metaphor for life
if you’ve never attempted then you’re
unaware how thrilling and absolutely
freeing tap shoes can make you feel
suddenly your entire body is an instrument
the world is your audience
you don’t need rhythm
those who know nothing about the art
will still be enthralled by the sounds
coming from your feet
But when you walk on tiles you have to be careful
one wrong move
one miniscule shift in balance and you’ll be on the
floor accompanied by the lovely sound of metal
scarping polished tile akin to nails on a chalkboard.
On tiles you walk with care
Slipping so easily
But those sounds
The beautiful clicks as you walk
They radiate so much more power than
stilettoes on a quiet church floor.
Next time it rains listen to the drops dancing on the roof.
They perform for you.

    --They still sit in my closet

We were young and dumb and learning to grow up in a world that wanted us to stay young
We kissed under the stars at the lake with our shoes thrown down the hill
Our hands intertwined as we experienced what a french kiss was--
messy, sloppy, and full of my long hair
you would call it weird

We thought we were older than we really were
annoyed that the adults couldn't see that we weren't children even though we still were
We complained about rules and your step-siblings being sent to watch us
We would sneak out of the house at night where we would dance to no music in the streets
and would lay on the trampoline trying to figure out exactly what first, second, and third base were
We didn't really know anything even though you played baseball

We were freshmen in college
miles apart and set up by my best friend
I resisted initially but our connection was instant and I finally realized this is what love was
not awkward kissing that never felt right
not experimental touching
it was true and funny and it didn't judge or get upset if my weird long hair got in the way of a kiss
It was losing my virginity and staying in your arms all night
It was you.
It still is you even these years later
I'm sorry it took a while before I could get to you

I know it looks like I'm okay
but I only advertise the parts of me to the world I want others to see
you don't see me in my desperation
in my sweat riddled bed I can barely lay on--
so much is taken up by depression my body doesn't fit
I haven't showered in two weeks
there are dishes in my bath tub soaking
they've been there for weeks
I tell myself I'm going to clean them
so I can clean myself
instead I'm in my bed riddled with crumbs and empty wine bottles
ashes have painted the pink sheets black
I'm self medicating and it isn't helping
but it's the only thing I can bring myself to do
I'm not okay
I don't know how to tell you that
or how to make you understand

They spoke to me today about the possibility of discharge
I don't want to leave
here I feel steady
unjudged
cared for and loved
here, I'm away from the stresses of the outside world
I don't want to go back
the biggest stresses I have here are what coloring page I'm going to do;
what number I can't figure out in my Sudoku, if there's music or animal therapy today outside---
I'm forced to be an adult  
I've been an adult my entire life
I've never gotten to be a child

A suburb of hell I live in
Across the road from the picture perfect family
Small, yappy little dog who is walked every morning and night by loving husband and father of three
Next door the father who left his family to live with his gay lover downtown
Three young boys and a wife who will never understand
Behind every door is a secret
The Wilsons live a sheltered and abusive life
The man of the family is powerful
The cunninghams across from them are timid and smile to hide the bruises on their arms
Father knows best after all
My door hides the racist, the Republican, the conservative, the homophobic
My door hides the yelling of a bipolar mother off medication
The alcoholism of a child too young to drink
And the silent watch of a father trapped in a loveless marriage
Every house in this suburb of hell tells a story
None of which are happy
Yet you see my neighborhood and call me privilaged
If only you knew.

I don't think I've ever been satisfied with my life
I don't think I ever will be until I am nothing but dust
See I crave death in the way others dont
I don't want to go to heaven or hell or spend my life somewhere in between the two
I would be so bored
bored of "eternal piece"
bored of "eternal pain"
routine, mundane, eternal
never changing, predictable
I would loathe a forever like that
I crave reincarnation
I crave growth and new experiences and new adventures and new perspectives
I crave what I cannot get in this life
or the next life or the next life after that
I crave knowledge and empathy and ignorance and spite
I crave the ever-changing unknowable world that our bodies live in
I will never be satisfied

Often times I will love my poetry the moment I write it
Believe it to be one of the best I have written
but then I go back
and reread
and realize that I don't love it as much as the ones
I thought were sub-par

    --It was the same with you

Can we go back to a time when I didnt know you?
When I didnt have these feelings everytime I looked at you?
When I couldnt read you with a glance?
Back to when I didnt realize how important you would be?
I want to meet you again
I want to talk about the trivial things--like what your favorite color is or what you wanted to be when you grew up
I want to relearn your little habits and ticks
Relearn all the things that set you off
Like how you have to chew your food the same number of times on each side of your mouth
Or how you pick at your ******* on your left hand when you feel uncomfortable
I want to go back to when I met you
When I didnt know that you were the other half of my soul
When I didnt know how fragile and beautiful you are
When I didn't see that you had been broken so many times before
But you dont need to worry anymore
My mom worked with fine China so I will treat you like porcelain I swear.
Let's go back
Let's watch the stars again
And stay up talking for hours again
And rediscover each other
Let's fall in love for the first time again
I promise this time it will be easier
I promise this time I wont take you for granted
I promise this time I will treasure every moment
Let's go back, okay?

   --Time traveling?

Today and group we talked about super powers
I've always talked about wanting to freeze time but I've never really asked myself why
I think I'm scared of the world moving on without me
that I'm running out of time to make an impact
that I'll be forgotten
I have issues with abandonment
I feel alone

If I could stop time I'd be able to travel,
see the world without the craziness or commotion of everyday life
I think I just want a break
here I was given a break,
someone else to take care of me for a while this place is like stopping time
only the world is going on without me
I don't know if I'm ready to go back

I can't be there for you if you push me away
too bad for you though,
I'm quite stubborn with things that I love
You're dating a force to reckon with

I wait for the day I shoot vines from my fingertips
Long for the overgrowth to take my body back to the earth
I've taken so much from her
I'm sorry I love the feel of paper over a computer screen in my hands
The smell of ink and yellowing pages always gave me more comfort than any keyboard could.
But earth, darling, I promise you
When I return you can make me into the most beautiful foliage
Print a book on me.

I'm guarded,
but these walls are glass:
thick like the acrylic in aquariums.
I can see through,
bang on the walls until my hands are red,
shout, but no sound ever leaves this fortress

instead I watch
as the people stare in at me;
hundreds of eyes watching me
causing my skin to crawl like insects are living beneath it

they precieve me but do not know me---
gawk and laugh and smudge the glass;
my vision to the outside becomes jaded--
blurry audience to my sideshow act---
there's something to be said about just exsisiting

I'm there with pretty patterns,
colors that scream dangerous to the natural world;
there is total lack of monochrome
bar the numerous stickers on my torso and limbs

and they stare at me appalled
while their children giggle and  point with wonder in their eyes
demanding to know what is that creature?
why it's so funny,
why it's so loud and bright and struggling to hide
when it's obviously something a wonder to be seen

they shush their children then--
saying don't look and not to point
while they raise their eyebrows in judgement and gossip to their friends later about what they saw that day
I have become a spectacle and in a way I did it to myself
trapped in the necessity of uniformity so long I started to ooze out of my clothes like sludge

it dripped into new shoes and formed someone new
I'm still learning to accept her vision in the glass when I look in the mirror
trying to find the awe of a child's eyes through the ones of an adult

Call me basic white as I sip my iced coffee
and feel free to laugh at my obviously fake spray tan
this orange could never be natural anyways
I watch the hairdressers roll their eyes every time
I ask for black
It's my natural color, I promise them but they doubt me anyways
I became a guessing game for my co-workers
my ethnicity a puzzle with missing piece
I know Spanish but I'm not Hispanic
You look Arabic but that side of the world was never familiar to me
I say I am Native
Native American on my dad's side
Half my blood flows with that of my mutilated ancestors
Yet you see my white, coffee sipping lips and doubt
My skin in the winter is snow
but my nick name is at summer camp was snooki
my tan unbelievably orange
yet you wonder why red-skin is an insult
I am native and proud of my heritage
the only questions I get are about scholarships I never received
You say that I am lucky
and that I must be receiving so many benefits
I resist the urge to punch you in the face
I have received nothing from your people
and I never will

I dont demand respect a lot
I'm not the kind to hold my position above others for control
But I do demand human decency

You thought that you were better now
years of medication and therapy and routine playing day to day on repeat until it is all you know
You thought you were happy
content
learning to enjoy living agian
but all good things must come to an end, my dear
and now I ask--
are you happy?
or are you just comfortable?
do you even know the difference between the two?

I didnt realize I'd neglected you
Seeing all the dust you accumulated is sobering
Why haven't I been around?
Oh you know,
I've been busy
Distracted with....work
Or not work
I'm sorry I cant lie to you
I've been dark again
But it's not like that, okay? So dont worry
I promise I'm not planning 7 different ways to not wake up or anything
I just....you know, needed a break?
From my head that is
A break from my head to clear my head using my head
That doesn't make sense
I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm sorry
What I want to use you for is selfish
I want to give you poems of lighthearted tounge and cheek
But all that I write now is heavy and I know you're old and don't need that kind of script to worry about
I'll dust you off and write something cheery soon
Until then, wait a little longer okay?

I think I've been too much again
too obtrusive in ways that I don't mean to be
I'm codependent and that's not healthy
but I felt that I could be with you and now I'm not so sure

but you said you needed space
and I understand needing to be alone
but I can't help this feeling that I've done something wrong to push you away

I'm a lot and I know that
it's hard to admit it to myself
you kept me steady and routine
I'm not quite sure how to deal without
right now of all times

I'm vexatious
and burdensome
difficult
and loud
annoying like a fly buzzing in your ear;
constant and disruptive

and I talk about myself way too much
and I share little things about my day
and I think they've added up to being too much

and others tell me I'm not
but it feels like they're just placating
because I'm never too much with them  and I know I am with you

this is why I don't let people in
because every time I do they eventually pull away
unable to keep up with everything I am
so I pull back instead
hesitant to jump in
the water is always a shock to my system
I started wading instead
but by the time I'm fully swimming
you've gotten out to tan

I know I am too much
colorful and loud
unapologetic until I am crying again alone
I care about you in a way I know you don't care the same

so instead I'll be quiet
accommodating and considerate
your own feelings placed above my own
I'll get out of the water
drops evaporating from my skin
until there is nothing left but air and a stranger
where there once was a friend

Someday I'll learn
And to be honest I probably should have by now
But although I'm sure I've been here before
My lessons always come to me the hard way
I cant be told something
I have to experience it
The concept never truly taking form in my mind until I'm stuck right where I never wanted to be
I'm that type of hypocrite who speaks and never listens
Advice given that I never take for myself
I'm sure someday I'll learn though
Just like I have in that true happiness is in the day-to-day
And not knowing who you are or what you want to be in life is okay
Some things take time
I'll learn eventually